Paradise Found

by Mary Campisi

  “Why not, indeed?” She raised a well-sculpted brow. Rosa hid a smile and passed the bread and butter.

  “One piece will do me,” he said, reaching for a thick hunk of Italian bread. “Gotta save room for Rosa's cheesecake.”

  Sara hid her own smile. It was obvious Rex was goading Gabrielle. He seemed to be the only one paying her the slightest amount of attention, even if it was derogatory. Everyone else was ignoring her—especially Matt.

  But the woman didn't seem to notice. Her attention was focused on Matt and herself, of course. She was beautiful, almost surreal, with her high hollowed cheekbones and thin straight nose. Her lips were full and pouty. And her eyes were the color of emeralds gleaming in the sunlight. Her tousled flame-red hair lay heaped atop her head like a glowing crown. Sara felt awkward and dowdy beside her, like an evergreen standing next to a willow. Everything about the woman spoke of elegance, though, whether born of breeding or hours in front of a mirror, Sara wasn't certain. She was certain that Gabrielle Jontue was obsessed with herself—and the man beside her.

  “How long will you be staying?” Adam asked. He'd spoken very little during the meal and Sara got the distinct impression that this redheaded beauty was not one of his favorite people.

  “Well,” she cooed in a long drawl, “that depends on your brother.” She leaned over, her full breasts brushing Matt’s forearm. He flinched but didn't pull away. “I'd like him to come to Venice with me.”

  “Venice?” Matt yanked his arm out of her grasp and turned toward her. “What are you talking about?”

  “I meant to discuss this with you when we had a little more privacy,” she said in the softest of voices.

  “Out with it, Gabrielle.”

  “Really, Matt. Sometimes you can be so cruel.” When he didn't respond, she gave a little sniff and said, “Well, if you must be such a spoilsport about it, I'll tell you. I was planning a little surprise for you. Back to Venice. Just the two of us.” Magenta nails stroked his biceps.

  Back to Venice? As in they'd been there before? Together? Sara tried to push back the jealously that gripped her. He may not be involved with her anymore, but he once was, and from the way she was rubbing herself against him and touching him, odds were Gabrielle was doing her darnedest to rekindle the relationship.

  “I don't think so.”

  “Why?” She edged her red, silk-clad body closer. “Is it because of…your condition?”

  Sara saw the left side of his jaw twitch. And twitch again. “No. It is not because I'm blind.”

  Gabrielle flinched, but pressed on. “Then why won't you go?”

  He shrugged and forked a chunk of meatball. “Other commitments.”

  “What kind of commitments?”

  “Personal.”

  “Oh.” She sat up ramrod-straight. “I see.”

  Sara doubted the woman saw anything other than her own desire to get what she wanted.

  There was very little conversation during the rest of the meal, with the exception of an occasional comment on the food or a casual remark about the news. Gabrielle Jontue remained quiet, toying with the last strands of pasta on her plate. It was obvious from her silence and the sour-lemon expression on her face, she was not pleased.

  What had Matt meant by other commitments? Was he trying to give her the brush-off or had he been referring to something else? Someone else? Herself, perhaps?

  “I'm stuffed,” Rex announced, pushing his plate aside and patting his belly. “It was delicious, Rosa.” He winked at her. “Especially the hot pepper bits in the meatballs.” He brought his hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers, making a loud, smacking sound. “Exquisite.”

  Rosa beamed at him. “Thank you.”

  “Everything was indeed delicious,” Sara said. “Especially, the meatballs.” It was one of the few comments she'd made during the entire meal. She'd been too busy trying to analyze Gabrielle Jontue and her motives. Sara hadn’t missed the other woman's eyes on her, studying her as though she were some kind of bug who'd just flitted into the light.

  “How long will you be here, Dr. Hamilton?” Gabrielle asked, leaning back against the chair, her hand under her chin.

  “Well, I'll be staying a little longer—”

  “Until I don't need her anymore,” Matt cut in.

  Talk about truth in words. They hadn't discussed the real length of her stay, or her eventual departure.

  Gabrielle's eyes widened a fraction at the firmness in his voice. “What exactly will you be doing?”

  What indeed? She cleared her throat and met the other woman's level stare. “I'll be helping Matt adjust to life outside of these walls.”

  “And she's going to help me work on my book,” he interjected.

  “Oh.” Gabrielle insinuated plenty with that one little word. “I thought you never let anyone but your editor read your books before they were finished.”

  He shrugged. “Don't have much of a choice. I need a typist. Sara volunteered for the job.”

  That wasn't quite true, but this wasn't the time to bring it up.

  ”Well, I don't care what Sara's doing,” Adam said, laying down his napkin. “I'm just happy she's staying.”

  “I'll second that,” Rex's said.

  “Yes,” Rosa chimed in.

  Matt’s gaze settled on Sara, looking past her, into her. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft, as though they were the only ones in the room. “I'm happy, too.”

  She wanted to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, but she didn't. Whatever was happening between them needed time to gather strength before the outside world bombarded them with all of its demands and expectations. Take it slow. Wait and see. A few short weeks ago she'd have agreed to a root canal rather than coming to California and dealing with Matthew Brandon. A few short weeks ago she’d also believed every tabloid, every article on the man and his many women, permitting no margin for error or misrepresentation on the part of the publisher.

  “Well,” Gabrielle purred, “how nice that you all are so happy. Now if you'll excuse me ...” Her words hung in the air as she rose and clipped away on her three-inch red heels.

  “Somebody's in a mood,” Rex whispered.

  “We've got about fifteen minutes before she explodes,” Adam said, glancing at his watch. “Let's get out of here.”

  “I stay. To protect Mister Matt,” Rosa said in a half-joking voice.

  “Wait a minute,” Matt said. “I don't want to be around her when she blows, either. I'm coming with you.”

  Adam's eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sorry, old man. She's your guest. You find a way to detonate her. We're outta here.”

  “Sara?”

  “Sorry. She is your guest.” She smiled at his obvious discomfort. The woman might be a porcelain image of perfection, but she was a witch. So much for professional objectivity. Might as well admit she didn't have any where Gabrielle Jontue was concerned.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “I'll take care of this situation myself.”

  “I know you can do it,” Adam said, suppressing a laugh.

  Sara walked around the table and gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Good luck,” she murmured.

  “Right. Don't be too late. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  “I know. Good-bye.” Her fingers skimmed the back of his chair, trailing along his shoulders.

  “Later.” The word tumbled over her, heating her insides.

  “Grab a jacket and let's go,” Adam said, breaking the intimate moment.

  “Just give me a minute.” She headed down the hall to her room, pulled open the closet doors and rummaged through her clothes until she located her jacket.

  “Have a good time.”

  The voice startled her. Sara swung around and met Gabrielle's inquisitive gaze less than five feet from her. “I didn't hear you come in.”

  The other woman stood with her arms crossed under her full breasts, making them appear even larger. Her smile was cool, assessing. �
�What you're trying to do for Matt is commendable,” she began, shifting from one stiletto heel to the other. “Truly commendable.” She paused a moment, tilting her head to one side, exposing a graceful column of creamy neck. “I just hope you're doing it for the right reasons.”

  When Sara didn't answer, Gabrielle gave a little throaty laugh and continued. “I understand Matt. We've been through a lot together. No matter our differences, he always comes back to me.” Her red lips curved at the corners. “Always.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  The woman smiled again, taking in Sara’s brown hair and white sneakers. “Well, I think you know, Dr. Hamilton. I think you know exactly what it has to do with you.”

  “I've got to go,” Sara said, anxious to get away from the woman's hard stare and cold insinuations. She headed past her, yanking her jacket on as she passed.

  “Only a fool would fall in love with Matthew Brandon.” Gabrielle's words struck, slowing her step. “And something tells me, Dr. Hamilton, you're no fool.”

  ***

  “‘He watched her from across the smoke-filled room, his eyes scanning her every move. Cataloging for future reference. Her thick sable hair swirled behind her, rose-tinted lips sipping the straw of her fancy pink drink, long slender legs crossed at the ankle. He could only see her in profile. It wasn't enough.

  But he was a patient man. It wasn't that she was beautiful in the classic 'skin' sense, because she wasn't. The woman wasn't even his usual type. He normally opted for a bustier, brassier female with a beautiful face and well-rounded curves. The kind who turned heads and made men drool. And liked it, too.

  This one seemed quiet, almost demure in her mannerisms. She kept her eyes down, ignoring the questioning gaze of the regulars. There was a paper spread out in front of her. Reading? He wanted to laugh. Didn't she know she didn't fit in a place like this? Someone should tell her she didn't belong. Someone should tell her the inhabitants of Charlie's Grill only came here for two reasons. To drink or get laid.

  She didn't seem to fit into either category. Now on the occasion when he felt the serious need for a drunk, then Charlie's Grill was the only place for him. It afforded him privacy, the best bourbon in town, and Charlie's willing ear. As for the other, well, getting laid was not something he usually had to worry about. Women found him.

  Take the blonde in the corner. She'd been eyeing him for the past twenty minutes. He knew all the classic signs—the unwavering stare, the slight tilt of the head, the forward thrust of an already large bust, the shimmying of material to expose a little extra thigh. Yeah, he knew it all. That one was on the make, all right. It wouldn't take more than a flick of his finger to have her next to him, panting in his ear.

  But not the other one. His gaze shifted back to the brunette. She was like sunshine after a hard rain, all fresh and serene. And he wanted her. Badly.’”

  “Well, she better not give in,” Sara's loud warning filled the room, interrupting Matt's next words. “Why is he going after this innocent woman when he has a ready-and-willing one waiting for him?”

  Matt laughed, adjusting the bill on his Pirates cap. Only Sara would say something like that. “You're the psychologist, Dr. Hamilton. You tell me.”

  “I thought Jack Steele was interested in anything with breasts, the bigger the better.”

  “Not true. You don't really know Jack. He's not the marauder. It's the women. They're always after him, throwing themselves at him.” He shrugged. “What's a man to do?”

  “What, indeed? Perhaps he could try to have a relationship with one of them.”

  He didn't miss the sharpness in her voice. “Jack's not good with relationships.”

  “Hmm.”

  He hated it when she did that, as if she had a lot to say on the subject and mere words would never suffice. “Can we continue? Or do you need to dissect Jack Steele's motives first?”

  She sniffed. “I know exactly what his motives are.”

  “Good,” he said, annoyed by her snide comment. He was edgy this morning, and it had little to do with Sara bashing his hero's character and more to do with the time she strolled in last night—with Adam. One o'clock, if Rosa hadn't fooled with the chimes again.

  What the hell was she doing with his brother for all those hours? Matt was dying to know, but damned if he'd ask. He shifted in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back, trying to get his mind on Jack Steele and the brunette. The innocent, tantalizing brunette with rose-tinted lips, long legs, and eyes the color of…Christ! Matt shot up from his chair. “Describe your eyes to me.”

  “My eyes?”

  “Yeah. What color are they? What shape?”

  She didn't answer at first, as though she were weighing the options of fight or flight. When she did speak, there was a hesitancy he didn't understand. Was she embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Self-conscious? What? What was making her so skittish?

  “I guess they're kind of a mix between green and amber.”

  He remembered Adam's words. And I can't forget her eyes. You can get lost in them when she looks at you….amber green…kind of tilted at the corners… When she's passionate about something, they turn this rich amber color… like old whiskey…

  “Which is dominant?” Matt asked, wondering if she agreed with Adam's observations.

  “Green, I guess. How do I know? I don't stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself all day.”

  “Don't get testy. I was just curious. It's the writer in me working overtime.”

  “Well, the writer needs to take a break.”

  “What shape are they?” Kind of tilted at the corners…

  She made a disgusted sound. “Matt, stop—”

  “Okay, no more questions. Truth is, I thought the least I could do to show my appreciation for your assistance would be to write in a character with your eyes.”

  “Let me guess. The big-busted blonde with the come-hither look is going to have my eyes.”

  “Would I do that to you?”

  “Yes. You would,” she said, her voice short and huffy. “Especially when you know I can't stand a woman throwing herself at a man.”

  He decided to string her along a few more seconds. “Even if he wants her to?”

  “Even then,” she said, with a primness that was downright annoying.

  Sara Hamilton was a flesh-and-blood woman with enough heat to burn him and half of Laguna Beach. “Actually, I thought I'd use your eyes for the mystery woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “She seems more your type. Elusive. Compelling. Unaware of her own sensuality.”

  He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing.

  “You are, aren't you?” he prompted. Delving into the psyche of this woman was becoming his greatest challenge.

  “What?”

  “You're good. And elusive. Or maybe, evasive is a better word.” Matt rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, evasive would be my pick. You dance around most questions about yourself, and I'm starting to think there's a big dark secret hiding under that soft skin.”

  “I'm not evasive. Or elusive. There's just not much to say when compared to a celebrity like you.”

  Something in her tone didn't ring true. She was hiding something, he'd bet his favorite Pirates cap on it. But what would a hometown ‘I believe in God and country’ girl be hiding? “I don't suppose you consider yourself compelling either?”

  “Compelling? As compared to what? Saturday night reruns or fried baloney sandwiches? I'm just ordinary. No frills, no extras. Just plain old ordinary.”

  “I like fried baloney sandwiches. And you're anything but ordinary.”

  “I've driven the same way to work for the last three years.”

  “So you like the scenery.”

  “And I've eaten at the same restaurant.” She paused. “In the same booth.”

  “Must be good food with a good view.”

  “At the same time every day.”

  “Hmm. And the food? Is that the sa
me too?”

  “I usually pick the special of the day.”

  “How daring of you.”

  “I told you. Just plain old ordinary.”

  “That's not plain old ordinary, Sara. That's plain old weird.”

  She laughed, a light trickling sound that heated his blood and made him realize once again how far from ordinary she was—at least compared to the women who usually occupied his time. They all came with agendas and expectations, their words calculated down to the smallest preposition. They were hunters, armed with insincere praise and bright red smiles, aimed directly at him—the hunted. He knew the game, knew how to play it, even got a certain amount of perverse pleasure twisting their psyches into knots.

  Sara was different. Her open honesty and sincere words bore no signs of entrapment. She made him relax, feel comfortable with her and with himself, despite his blindness. He'd spent half of last night plotting his book and his life, something he wouldn't have considered possible a month ago. A month ago, he'd had no life. Sara had given it back to him. She'd led him through anger and despair to the other side, where hope and new beginnings dwelt.

  She'd pierced his heart with her genuineness. No facades. No gimmicks. No ploys. Just Sara. Intoxicating. Fresh. Unique. Brimming with sensuality, yet refusing to acknowledge the word.

  “Matt?” She broke through his thoughts. “Are you stuck on my weirdness or is Jack Steele running through his come-on lines?”

  He laughed. Add sense of humor to her attributes. “Relax. You're a cute weird. And as for Jack”—he rubbed his chin—“he's about to get the shock of his life.”

  “Let me guess. His former conquests close in on him, red nails poised and ready for clawing.”

  “Better.” He grinned. “The brunette turns around and he finds himself staring at the most arresting pair of amber-green eyes he's ever seen. His mouth opens, but the words won't come.”

  “Jack Steele left speechless? Now that's a first.”

  “Oh, yeah. This little lady's gonna give him a lot of firsts.”

  “My heroine.” Humor coated her voice. “Does this wonder have a name?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well? Shall I start with A and work my way through the alphabet or do you just want to make it a little easier and tell me?”